What the Nanny Saw (25 page)

“I think you can safely assume that Izzy doesn’t want to model herself on you,” said Hester, stung by Bryony’s criticism.

•   •   •

“Are they old enough
to celebrate with a small glass of champagne?” Foy asked. He urged Andromede to search immediately for a bottle to celebrate with.

“I guess so.” Nick smiled as Izzy came over and sat on the edge of his knee.

“Will you at least get rid of those great clunking boots, otherwise you’ll get trench foot in this heat?” Izzy shook them off her feet to reveal a small tattoo of a yin-yang symbol on her left ankle.

“What is that?” Nick asked.

“It represents peace and harmony,” said Izzy.

“Well, we certainly could use that,” said Nick.

“It’s so long since I’ve seen you, Daddy,” she said, clearly enjoying all the attention. “Where have you been?”

“Working hard to earn enough money to keep you afloat,” said Nick. He stared at Izzy sitting on the end of his knee as though she was a strange mythical creature come to torment him.

“I can’t believe you’ve done this, Izzy,” shouted Bryony. “Why do you want to punish me?”

“Calm down, Bryony,” urged Foy.

Ali retreated into the jasmine to observe the elaborate ritual of greetings, aware that her presence would make things more awkward. People were never sure whether to ignore or acknowledge her. Silence was preferable to the misfired kisses and clumsy hugs that people sometimes undertook. Their intentions were well meaning, but it highlighted her confused status. She was relieved that Izzy’s metamorphosis had occurred away from her.

She watched as Nick gripped Rick’s hand and put the other hand on his shoulder in a manner that could have been interpreted as patronizing, except that Rick retaliated with a bear hug that definitely left Nick on the back foot. The twins and Lucy and Jake appeared, and Rick gave an ebullient round of high-fives. Hector took one look at Izzy and burst into tears. Lucy gave a disapproving glance up and down her body. Jake chewed his lower lip and stared at Ali.

“I want Izzy back,” Hector cried. Izzy went over and knelt down to reassure him that she was the same person.

“It’s a disguise, Hector,” she explained.

Foy demanded that everyone admire the pair of handmade slippers that Tita had bought for his birthday. There was an olive tree embroidered in the velvet over the left toe and a salmon on the other. Tita walked slowly toward Hester, arms outstretched, and embraced her daughter.

“So lovely to have you all here together,” Tita said, her eyes filling with tears.

“It’s wonderful to be here, Mum,” said Hester, embracing her mother.

Foy vigorously shook Rick’s hand.

“Happy birthday, Foy,” he said, carefully placing a present on the marble table.

Foy stared at it for a moment, until he was sure that everyone was watching. Then he carefully peeled back layers of paper and Bubble Wrap until he reached an oil painting of the Villa Ichthys that Hester had commissioned from an English artist resident on Corfu.

“It’s marvelous, Hester,” said Foy, although the lines were perhaps a little too abstract for his taste and the blocks of color too muted for such an obvious man. “How clever you are.”

“It was Rick’s idea,” said Hester, looking at him sharply, as though searching for any signs of insincerity.

“We must put it up at once in the drawing room so that Julian and Eleanor can admire it when they come over,” he said.

“If Foy is in the mood for presents, then maybe we should hand over ours,” suggested Nick.

“Although I have no idea what he’s got for you, Daddy,” said Bryony. “It’s been his big secret.”

“We need to go down to the beach,” said Nick.

“Can’t you just give it to him here?” asked Bryony, nervously eyeing Hester.

“Indulge me,” said Nick, putting his arm around Bryony.

“On the Koloura or the Kassiopi side?” asked Tita.

“The Koloura side, in case we make the Rothschilds jealous,” joked Nick.

“Come with us, Ali,” said Bryony, noticing she was hiding underneath the jasmine. “You’ll love this beach.”

•   •   •

Ali could hear
Nick and Bryony’s argument, even though their room was on a different floor in the main part of the house, where the olive press used to be kept, and their shutters were closed. The old stone walls couldn’t keep secrets. In summer nothing moved, the air stood still, and noise floated in mysterious patterns from one end of the estate to the other. She knew without listening that the argument was about the boat that Nick had bought Foy for his birthday.

She remembered Nick standing beside Foy on the beach, one hand covering his father-in-law’s eyes. Nick had dramatically removed his hands to reveal the twenty-three-foot speedboat. Foy had waded into the water and immediately got into the driving seat, laughing at the way Nick had called the boat
The Menace
.

“What a beast,” Foy kept saying, unable to suppress his joy. Alfie and Hector had climbed in the back, demanding to be given the first ride around the bay. Izzy had scrambled onto the prow with her cousins, Maud and Ella. Jake had even managed to disentangle himself from Lucy to climb on board. Foy had asked Tita if she wanted to join him, but Tita knew the motion would make her dizzier than usual. Hester and Rick had stood on the beach, unsmiling.

“How much did it cost?” Bryony kept asking.

“Does it matter?” responded Nick. To judge from the lazy tone of his voice, he was lying on the bed, sipping beer.

“You’re the one saying that we shouldn’t buy this house in Oxfordshire,” said Bryony.

“I paid for the boat a year ago,” said Nick. “Things were different then.”

“How much did it cost?” she insisted. “I can look it up on the Internet, so you might as well tell me.”

“Three hundred thousand pounds,” said Nick, as though this information would miraculously cauterize the argument. “It’s a Silvestris.”

“Why did you get it?” asked Bryony.

“I wanted to buy your father something that he will really love,” said Nick.

“I don’t believe you.”

“Why do you think I bought it?”

“Because you want to show my father that you can afford to buy him a present that he couldn’t afford to buy for himself. It’s part of this ridiculous one-upmanship that you have with him, this need to prove yourself against him. There’s more to life than money, Nick.”

“You don’t believe that or you’d let me give up my job,” Nick shouted back.

“It wouldn’t work,” said Bryony.

“What wouldn’t work?” said Nick.

“We wouldn’t work if you didn’t work,” she said.

 13 

Foy stood up in
The Menace
, one hand on the steering wheel, the other saluting Julian Peterson, as he navigated his way rather too fast toward the small jetty at the foot of the Petersons’ house on the edge of the bay at Agios Stefanos. The nose of the boat bumped the newly built wooden gangway, wrong-footing Julian, who for a moment looked perilously close to toppling into the water beside them. He stepped back to regain equilibrium, and Ali could see that his beige shorts and blue short-sleeved shirt were spattered with seawater.

“Let the party begin,” Foy shouted triumphantly as he finished his salute by doffing his panama hat toward Julian. Bryony put an arm on his shoulder to restrain him because he was rocking the boat, but Foy resisted. His sudden enthusiasm at the prospect of drinks at the Petersons’ was all the more astonishing, given the way he had spent most of the ten-minute journey complaining that they should bring their own food and wine because Julian was so stingy.

“What’s all this?” Julian asked as he leaned forward to read the boat’s name and get a better view of the hand-stitched-leather interior.

“Birthday present from my son-in-law,” Foy said, struggling to feign nonchalance.

“God, it’s a Silvestris, isn’t it? You lucky bastard,” said Julian, reacting in exactly the way Foy hoped he would. “Nick must be doing well. Either that or he’s trying to kill you.”

“Requires a clear head and a steady hand, and fortunately I still have both,” said Foy, unable to contain his excitement. “Isn’t it a beast? Glides through the water like a torpedo. I’ll take you and Eleanor for a spin later.”

“Grandpa needs a parrot for his shoulder,” shouted Hector excitedly.

“Please get a parrot,” pleaded Alfie, “please get a parrot.” If someone could get a boat that cost more than a house for his birthday, then a parrot didn’t seem so outlandish, thought Ali, as she helped the twins onto the jetty. Bryony, Tita, Maud, and Ella followed close behind.

Ali stood awkwardly as everyone kissed Julian hello. She knew the routine by now. Two kisses, one on each cheek. Would Julian remember her? If not, would Bryony remind him? In the event, both forgot. Foy, who was generally better than everyone else at including Ali in a round of greetings, was too wrapped up talking about the engine of his boat to notice her unease. For a moment she considered introducing herself, even though she had met Julian several times before. It was a less embarrassing prospect than coming across him later and having to explain that she was neither a friend of Jake’s nor one of Hester’s daughters, and was, in fact, the nanny.

Foy strode up the steep pathway toward the Petersons’ new house, leaving Julian breathlessly trailing behind him. Now it was Foy’s turn to muster enthusiasm appropriate to the purchase of an eight-bedroom villa overlooking the Ionian Sea.

“Stunning location . . . beautiful garden . . . fantastic house . . .” he said effusively, sounding like an estate agent. “It will be so lovely having you and Eleanor close to us in the twilight of our life.”

“Have you decided to retire here?” questioned Julian. “What about your business?”

“Can’t retire yet,” said Foy gruffly. “Fenton’s not ready to take responsibility. Too much of a loose cannon. Requires a steady hand on the tiller to negotiate with these bloody supermarkets. They’re squeezing our margins so tight that you can barely fit a piece of paper between profit and loss anymore.” It was all bluster. Even Ali knew Foy’s opinion no longer held any sway with Freithshire Fisheries.

Ali hung back with the children, behind Bryony and Tita, who were discussing Izzy. This was the first time that Tita had joined the family on an outing since they had arrived. Generally she was invisible. In the mornings, when Ali was down by the pool with the twins, Tita visited famous Corfiote gardens in search of new ideas. Occasionally she went to see a friend or accompanied one of the guests to a local market. In the afternoons Ali usually took the twins down to the beach, and when they came home Tita was shut away in the drawing room, sticking photos in albums or reading. Always biographies. Never fiction. Sometimes they happened upon her in the pool in the late afternoon. She wore a swimming hat with purple and orange plastic flowers and swam the slowest breaststroke Ali had ever seen, her head held erect above the water.

Tita had reluctantly decided to go in the boat at the last minute, after a great deal of persuasion from Bryony and Foy, who both insisted she should be present during
The
Menace
’s first proper maiden voyage. How everyone would travel to the Petersons’ had been the catalyst for a long argument that spluttered on from breakfast through to lunch. Far longer than it took to get there, Ali now realized.

Hester and Rick had announced they would walk, even though it was so hot that Leicester’s paw had blistered on the terrace. It was a point of environmental principle, Rick had sanctimoniously explained. Izzy had refused to go in the boat because it would interfere with her makeup. Nick had really wanted to travel in
The Menace
but had caved in to pressure from Bryony to take Jake, Lucy, and Izzy in the Land Rover. Bryony had insisted he needed to spend more time with his troubled teenage daughter. As she had waited outside the house for the boating party, Ali heard Nick impatiently revving the Land Rover in the driveway and pressing the horn nonstop for almost a minute until Jake and Lucy finally emerged. Then, just as they were all in place, his phone had rung.

“Sorry, Izzy, I’m dealing with a bit of a crisis. I’ll make it up to you.”

“Every day is a crisis in your world, Dad.”

“You’re not far from the truth at the moment,” Nick had muttered as he worried about the e-mail he had just received, subject: “something spooking markets, source unknown.” He flicked up and down his messages. “I’m going to have to go back to London for a couple of days.”

•   •   •

“Izzy is becoming difficult
to manage,” said Bryony as they headed up the hill. “And she was always so easy.”

“It’s a difficult age,” said Tita.

“I wasn’t like that, was I?”

“I don’t think so,” said Tita vaguely.

“I can’t understand why Izzy has such low self-esteem. We’ve given her the best of everything. We got her into a great school. Against the odds, frankly. She’s a talented musician. If she doesn’t blow it, she’s on track to get a couple of fistfuls of A’s in her GCSEs. Honestly, we couldn’t do any more for her than we’ve done, and then she turns up like this. I can’t help thinking if she hadn’t gone to stay with Hester then this wouldn’t have happened.”

Bryony stopped for a moment to allow Tita to draw level with her. Tita walked straight-backed, as though she had spent the best part of her adolescence in posture classes with a copy of Mrs. Beeton on her head.

“Do you think it’s because I work?”

“Darling, you and Hester were practically reared by nannies and it never did you any harm.”

Ali would have liked to add that the work thing was a red herring and that some people were born with a propensity for self-destruction. Her mother stayed at home until she and her sister were teenagers, and Jo had still ended up with a drug problem.

“That’s not what Hester would say.”

“Hester always has to blame someone else for her own problems. She’s like her father that way. Doesn’t want to take responsibility for her actions. I think it’s fabulous that you love your job. It means you always have your freedom. If I had been born in a different era I might have done something like you.”

“Do you regret being so reliant on Dad?” Bryony asked suddenly. It was a question that Bryony had spent a lifetime wanting to ask, but now that the opportunity had arisen she was afraid of the answer. Tita stopped for a moment and stared up at Foy, who had reached the top of the steep track and was holding Eleanor in an extravagant embrace on the edge of the terrace that ran along the front of the house.

“I love your father very much. But greater independence might have provided solace in difficult periods,” she said with an economy of language that made Ali wince at the turbulence it concealed. In modern parenting manuals Tita might have been classified as a distant parent, but she understood enough about human emotion to know that her daughter didn’t really want full disclosure.

They could see Izzy waving at them from the terrace. The Land Rover crew had beaten them. The intense heat wasn’t conducive to the kind of outfit appropriate to a teenager who wanted to show off her neo-Goth credentials. Ali was relieved to see that Izzy had abandoned her black leather boots in favor of flip-flops. She was wearing a very short denim skirt, a ripped T-shirt, and the same purple lipstick that gave her face a cartoonish look. Her proximity to Foy made her arms and legs look even spindlier.

“Look how thin she is,” said Bryony. “I thought it was good that she lost a bit of puppy fat, but of course Izzy has to take it that one step further. Do you think she’s properly anorexic? We’ve taken the computer out of her room so she can’t go on those wretched websites. She’s even seeing an eating-disorders counselor. We’ve gone with her a couple of times for a family session.”

“She has an unhealthy attitude toward food,” agreed Tita, who was rarely seen eating. Bryony continued to meander around the subject of Izzy as they finally reached the terrace at the top of the slope. Her solutions were all so extreme that it was difficult for Tita to find any middle ground worth debating.

“Should we push her harder or not push her at all? Should we let her eat what she likes or take her to an eating-disorders clinic? What about boarding school or home schooling?” Tita stopped and turned round to face the sea. She put out a hand to steady herself on a flimsy oleander, and for a moment Ali thought she might fall. Perhaps the conversation was making her dizzy.

“Is that you, Ali?” she asked, narrowing her eyes against the sun. “Would you mind taking my arm?”

•   •   •

Julian and Eleanor Peterson
hadn’t mentioned any other guests when they invited the party staying at the Villa Ichthys for early-evening drinks at the end of the first week of the holiday. So it was doubly enervating for Bryony to find Sophia and Ned Wilbraham sipping champagne cocktails together with Rick and Hester.

Nick was standing in a huddle with Ned. Their heads were bent so close to each other their foreheads were almost touching. They stared at their feet, and Ali wondered if they noticed they were wearing identical brown deck shoes and beige chinos, the uniform of the banker at leisure. Nick glanced at the group emerging from the path onto the terrace but didn’t react.

“I’ve just had an e-mail from a colleague in London saying there’s something strange going on with the markets. The price of U.S. gilts and gold is up, and investors are dumping anything with default risk. But no one knows why.”

“There’s definitely a perception that there’s a liquidity problem, but I’m sure it’s a case of short-term jitters,” agreed Ned. “It’s because BNP Paribas stopped investors’ withdrawing money from those three funds.”

“I think it’s more serious than that. Either trust has gone or people are running out of cash,” Nick argued.

“I saw the ECB has announced it will provide as much funding as banks need to keep up with demand for capital. That should reassure people,” said Ned.

“Defaults on subprime mortgages are the highest they’ve been since 2002,” said Nick. “If the money isn’t coming in to pay the bond holders, then who’s left holding the baby?”

“Surely the risk is dispersed through credit derivatives and CDOs so that any shocks can be absorbed?” questioned Ned.

“It depends on your view on fat tails,” Nick responded.

“You’ve lost me now,” said Ned. “I’m not a Harvard MBA, remember. I’m just a humble M-and-A type.”

“It’s when the medium-term stability of the system is built on a painful readjustment at the end. Those credit derivatives might make the system look more stable, but in fact there could be a big fat whale-sized tail waiting to sweep us all overboard when the boom slows down,” Nick explained.

“But according to Greenspan we’re all enjoying the great moderation,” said Ned. “It’s always a question of perception in these markets. And the models can’t all be wrong.”

“Maths tools are a compass. They’re not infallible, and it worries me that everyone is using the same models. What happens if the basic premise is wrong and extreme negative events occur more often than the formulas are telling us?” asked Nick.

“Then we’re all fucked,” said Ned. “Don’t let what happened to those Bear Stearns funds make you feel gloomy. They were overleveraged. There was a maturity mismatch. They’d got too many long-term mortgage-linked assets that you can’t shift in a hurry, funded by short-term debt that dissolved overnight.”

“Look at those boats out there,” Nick insisted. They both turned toward the sea, where an array of cruise ships, sailing boats, and ferries were purposefully striking their way up and down the channel. “The statistical likelihood of them all capsizing at once is tiny, but it’s not impossible. And it is possible that the system could de-leverage all at the same time.”

“So what would you advise?”

“I’d get rid of all the liability on our books today. I’d dump all of the mezzanine debt and most of the super-senior tranches, or at least try and get some insurance.”

“What about your lords and masters? Have you convinced them of your strategy?”

“No.” Nick gave a hollow laugh.

•   •   •

Ali turned her attention
to the other end of the terrace, where Sophia was questioning Rick about education. Was it really easier to get children from state schools into Oxbridge? Should she consider sending Martha to a sixth-form college for the last two years of her education, to secure a place? Did he really think an intelligent child would do equally well in any school? Did he know a good English tutor, because her eldest daughter’s last tutor had recently resigned, citing irreconcilable differences over Thomas Hardy. Sophia sprang up from her seat as she saw Bryony.